


such a pleasing smart

by ceraunos



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff, London era, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceraunos/pseuds/ceraunos
Summary: Thomas falls in love a thousand times in the course of a week. The first time is with the piercing green of eyes on a grey morning, the next with honesty and boldness above its station.~a falling in love in silence, until it isn't.





	such a pleasing smart

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for 'how i feel around you' which ran away with me... 
> 
> poem: Hidden Flame by John Dryden, 1631 - 1700

 

_ Feed a flame within, which so torments me _

_ That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me: _

_ ‘Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, _

_ That I had rather die than once remove it. _

 

Thomas falls in love a thousand times in the course of a week. The first time is with the piercing green of eyes on a grey morning, the next with honesty and boldness above its station. There are little things, the way he taps his fingers against the desk, the tilt of his neck when he’s thinking, the slight smile that creeps out when he thinks Thomas isn’t watching.

Then Thomas says ‘I refuse to stand on formalities, if we are to spend more time together than my wife and I do most days you must call me Thomas.’

The Lieutenant blinks, unsure and hesitating, except then Thomas says ‘please’.

‘James,’ James says, and Thomas falls in love again.   

Once love settles, makes a bedrock in Thomas’ chest, he knows he can never let it go. Yet as it grows it burns, with a heavy desire that is as painful as it is pleasant. There are days he can barely look at James for fear of giving himself away.

Miranda tells him, later, of what James is like with her. Their time together is like a fantasy tale and Thomas hangs onto her every word, desperate for more. Yet, in the quite moments he lets his mind wander to darkened carriages and a dockside room, himself at the centre of James’ affections rather than Miranda, it is as if the world is splitting into pieces for everything he cannot have.

 

_ Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; _

_ My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. _

_ Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, _

_ But they fall silently, like dew on roses _ .

 

James realises love long after it has begun to exist. He discovers it lurking in corners of his existence, in the sharp thrill of Thomas’ arguments. He finds himself looking forward to their afternoons with more than purely academic interests, loses the thread of their conversations in the sound of his voice.

Thomas smiles, pleased, and James begs silently to touch those lips. He tries harder than ever to please, to draw out another laugh, desperate for more which is never enough. They work well together, the plans for Nassau become something with form, no longer an idea but a possibility. Yet, James finds himself lingering, stalling discussions, drawing out the process as best he can; he is already in mourning for the day they are finished.

Love comes to James with a sting of salt in the air, familiar and yet uncomfortable. He aches with the need to tell someone, but when he hints it to Hennessey he feels himself burn with a need to stay silent, stay safe. The only person he could tell, who might forgive him it in any other circumstance, is the subject of such love, so he lets it linger and fester like an old wound. A scab he can’t help but pick whenever he is in Thomas’ presence.

It becomes a paranoia, he’s sure he must be so obvious. The way his heart stops, his words stutter and miss their meaning, just for the slightest look his way from Thomas.

‘Strange pairs,’ Thomas says.

Oh, how strange we could be, James thinks and bites his tongue.

He lets Miranda become a part of himself instead. She is just as quick, as intelligent as Thomas, and James is surprised to discover that he doesn’t hate her company. He is even more surprised to find he enjoys her body, too. She is sharp in her humour, where Thomas is cautious, cynical about others where Thomas is hopeful; close to James in almost all things and for a moment James wonders if his love can cover her too.

Except, then Thomas enters the room and it brings him back home, to the nights spent dreaming only of blond hair and masculine limbs. Miranda gets too close, is too similar, and James fears she must know his thoughts. He lets something become lost between them in a void of carefully placed space, and feels an emptiness form in that relationship too. The distance, a well of things impossible to say, is painful in the way a rip in fabric becomes a tear, becomes a gash flapping hopelessly against the wind.

 

_ Thus, to prevent my Love from being cruel, _

_ My heart’s the sacrifice, as ’tis the fuel; _

_ And while I suffer this to give him quiet, _

_ My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. _

 

There are moments, in the most mundane of instances, when Thomas swears he sees his own love reflected in James’ eyes. He catches looks that linger too long, touches that brush a little too intentionally, laughter at things not particularly clever.

Thomas hears rumours beyond what James will tell him, of what happened in the bar. His heart blooms like the bruise on James’ cheek with pride and fondness and fear. He hears other rumours, too. Wishes, beyond desire, that they are true. Thinks James is surely too careful for them to actually have substance. Then again, everyone is young and naïve once, before they learn better. Thomas’ mind thunders with the possibilities, hope flashing between the knowledge he is likely only seeing what he wants, not what actually is.

He becomes obvious in his affections, turning his mind away from business toward pleasure and friendship earlier in the day than perhaps is wise. James never questions it, adapts with ease and yet seems always one step away from Thomas’ reach. There is a stiff formality he never entirely looses, and Thomas realises that, regardless of how James feels, this is perhaps how he wishes for it to be. So he lets it be. The waters between them quiet into calm comfortableness and Thomas imagines that one day he could perhaps be satisfied by this alone.

His father arrives on a Thursday and in the restlessness of it James becomes a sanctuary.

‘I didn’t think you and I had one of those,’ James jokes and Thomas wants to kiss him for it. It brings stark relief to that which they haven’t discussed yet, the part they probably never will.

Perhaps it’s the panic that makes him say it, or maybe it’s the way James smiles as if he’s thinking the same thing, but Thomas can be silent no more.

‘These past few months I have come to trust you. Very much,’ he says and prays James understands.

 

_ On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; _

_ While I conceal my love no frown can fright me. _

_ To be more happy I dare not aspire, _

_ Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. _

 

James hates Thomas’ father on reputation alone, on sight he loathes him. He sees Thomas twitch, a half flinch, as he enters. He is remarkably settled, though, at dinner and James feels an odd pride swell as he watches Thomas argue, holding his own against such a torrid force as his father. It’s the same pride that propels him to his feet.

There’s a fleeting moment when he considers that this will ruin him. Whether he understood what he thinks Thomas was saying earlier or not, there will be no coming back now. Somehow he doesn’t care, whatever is going to happen now is more important.

Alfred Hamilton leaves. For a moment nothing happens and James can hear blood rushing through his ears like a gale. He is a man standing at the gallows, there can be no uncertainty about how he feels now.

‘Did you just tell my father to leave his own house?’ Thomas delivers the verdict with a breathless laugh and James’ knees almost give out.

‘You’re a good man, more people should say that.’

Thomas kisses him and it is a beginning and an ending. Somehow James knows, even then, that no amount of time will be enough for them now.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the prompt Sarah, sorry this isn't exactly filling it exactly, but this poem just seemed so /them/ and i had to use it.
> 
> pls feel free to send me things (or just shout with me about these boys) over on [tumblr](https://ceraunos.tumblr.com/) tumblr! x


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